


The Bet

by Pence



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Competition, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, based on brooklyn 99, because I'm weak, stubborn boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-11-18 14:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18122333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pence/pseuds/Pence
Summary: The day is finally here-- the end to the inane competition between Connor and Reed in bagging-and-tagging the most felony charges during a six month period. If Connor wins, he's demanded the jacket off of Gavin's back. And if Gavin wins--a date.The worst date one could possibly imagine.





	1. Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Despite writing mostly Gavin900, I have a really huge softspot for Convin. And after binging (still binging) a bunch of Brooklyn99, I can't help but view Santiago and Jake as these two loser boys. So please enjoy the first part of a three part fic centered around the dumbest bet in the world, two stubborn loser detectives, and their incredibly exhausted partners.

**Sept. 28, 4 hours remaining**

**98 | 98**

 

“....Are you smiling, Nines?”

 

Of all the weird shit Anderson had witnessed in the past year, walking into the briefing room to find a smiling RK900 was the highlight. The pearly teeth and drawn dimples sent more chills down the Lieutenant’s spine than the sordid memories of every death he’d witnessed befall his partner.

Fuck, he felt like he was being hit by the truck this time.

Turning away from the dry erase board situated in the corner of the room, the smiling android’s LED circled a deep yellow before settling into a calm blue. “Why would I not be smiling, Lieutenant? Today is the day when this ridiculous feud ends.”

Today’s the day? Oh.

Oh.

Coffee in hand, Hank sidled up to the android’s side and stared up at the old marker that had spent far too many months taking up space. Vibrant green had long faded into a dull mossy brown box atop which two names were signed; a long violet streak separating the contestants.

Connor | Reed

“Oh thank god,” Hank breathed against the rim of his mug as he stole a sip. “I can finally take a goddamn break.”

“I would not be so sure about that, Lieutenant,” Nines hummed, lacing his arms behind his back as he continued to stare at the scoreboard as if it had personally offended him.

“They are tied.”

Hank choked on his second sip, depositing the mug on the lip of the board as he beat a hearty fist to his chest. “What the fuck?! Connor was ahead by three at the end of his shift yesterday! How the fuck did Gavin bag--”

“We participated in a drug bust last night,” Nines shrugged, turning his cool gaze away from the matching numbers to stare disapprovingly down at the exasperated Lieutenant.

“You’re fucking homicide. What are you doing working a drug bu--”

“Reed insisted it was a repaid favor to a colleague but grew coincidentally distracted when I asked for identification,” The android muttered, tightening his hold behind his back. “Ended up throwing his arm around a random officer, reminisced about the ‘old college days’ with his good friend, Rick’, and failed to notice the nametag clearly labeled ‘Andrew Lang’.”

“I want to laugh, but I’m too fucking exhausted,” Hank muttered beyond a soft, breathy chuckle. “So... Ninety-eight to Ninety-eight.”

Nines nodded as he glanced back up to the scoreboard with a soft frown. “While I do not have the capability to feel exhaustion, I firmly believe these last few hours are looking to be incredibly tiring.

“Would you consider a partner change once this inane competition is over, Lieutenant?”

That question actually drew a chuckle out of the man as he took up his mug once more, joining the android in watching the board. “It depends on where ever the fuck Connor is right now.”

“Mmm. I did speak with him briefly this morning,” Nines stated, chin jerking slightly to his left to stare down at the Lieutenant beneath dark lashes. “He did not appear pleased to find the score updated upon his arrival. If I remember correctly, he stormed out of the precinct with a file in hand.”

“...Was it labeled Case A9-499-03 - Moretti Mob Family?”

Nines nodded.

Hank’s stomach dropped in tandem with the groan that left his lip, head tilting back to stare up at the popcorn-paneling above. Even the strands of dusk that collected in the corners of every tile were mocking him.

“Yeah,” The Lieutenant sighed, gaze drilling holes into the ceiling as if waiting for a benevolent god to sweep him from this stink planet. “I’d love to have you as a partner, Richard.”

Nines smiled as he let out the soft huff of a chuckle, unused to the use of his designated name. “Should we survive this day.”

“Should we survive this day,” Hank echoed wistfully as he waited for a miracle.

 

\------

 

**March 28, the beginning**

**0 | 0**

 

  
Connor did not sulk. He was a top of the line prototype with a clean and consistent arrest record after his official employment at the DPD. His social protocols calculated the best approach to any interrogation, and his projected success rate in even the most high-stakes hostage negotiations sat at a comfortable 97.393%.

But there was something that sparked red in his LED at the way Gavin sauntered over to the android’s desk--comical sway to his hips with a bounce to his step--and planted himself on the edge. It may have been the full, hungry grin that pulled at the detective’s many scars--or perhaps the wicked glint to his eye.

If Connor were to put his sudden, irrational desire to words, he would love for Gavin Reed to ‘fuck off’.

“Take a look at this, Robocop,” The detective smirked, motioning with his mug to a line of thugs being led towards the cellblocks by a group of rookie beat cops--the imposing RK900 taking up the rear. Anti-Android paraphernalia littered the filthy, bloody clothing of the group, many of whom sported tattoos of various colors and vulgarities across their body.

“That’s a precinct record you’re witnessing,” Gavin drawled, leaning back on his hand and scrunching some of the disgruntled android’s paperwork in the process. “Forty-three arrests and a culmination of sixty-three felony charges.”

Hank snorted from where he sat across from Connor, leaning back in his seat as the office watched the black-and-blue parade file through the office. “You really enjoy ridin’ RK900’s coattails, don’t ya Reed?”

“That metal lug? He’s great in a fight, but I’m the one who cracked the case,” Gavin scoffed, raising his mug as the cold-blue eyes of his partner flickering over to the three disapprovingly. “That dude is the least deviant, deviant in the whole of Detroit. Wasn’t his little black book of contact that got us location and means for warrant.”

“Look at you, Detective,” Connor hummed, echoing the other’s drawl as he forced a smile onto his face. “It’s only been six months since the revolution, and you already called an android a ‘dude’. How progressive of you.”

Gavin’s smile faltered for the smallest, minute moment before growing even more full. As much of an insufferable asshole as he was, Connor had to respect his commitment to giving as much as he could take. “Sass me all you want, Speak-and-Spell, but I did this for you, babe.”

The android blinked in confusion, dark eyes flickering over to the row of criminals being processed. “For me?”

“Consider it a love letter,” Gavin snickered, sipping his coffee as he watched one of the scrappier league members attempt to throw a cuffed punch back at the impenetrable wall that was RK900. The android did not appear pleased as he frowned down at the red blood peppering his white uniform.

“Gavin, you realize that pulling the pigtails of the girls you like was a terrible childhood lesson, right?” Hank asked, folding his hands atop his stomach as he leaned heavily back in his seat. “So stop bullshitting and explain what the fuck you’re talking about.”

With a roll of his eyes and the discrete brush of his middle-finger to his cheek, the detective hopped off of Connor’s desk and turned to face them.

“Fine,” Gavin huffed, shoving the freehand that wasn’t nursing his coffee into his pocket. If Connor had found any relief in the detective getting off of his paperwork, it was short-lived as that shit-eating grin shined above him.

“To put it simply--you suck.”

“Suck what?” Connor blinked, dark brows dipping further in confusion as Hank let out a soft snort upon hearing his question.

Gavin seemed similarly tickled, waving his mug in a small circle. “No, I mean you suck in general. If I could go back in time, I’d punch myself for ever thinking Cyberlife’s best could replace me. Y’wanna know why, Connor?”

“Not particula--”

“I’m fucking incredible,” Gavin bragged, giving a small bow to no-one.

“Technically RK900 is Cyberlife’s best,” Hank wondered aloud, smirking as he watched the stutter in the detective’s bravado. The ripple was quick to fill in as Gavin gave a ‘you-think-that-fucking-bothers-me’ shrug of his shoulder.

“Nines ain’t shit. He made a barista at my favorite cafe cry and scared a suspect into confessing to a double homicide we weren’t even investigating--just by walking into the room. Guy’s brilliant but--” A finger tap to his brow. “--scrambled socially.”

“Two peas in a pod,” Hank chuckled, devolving into a full laugh at the far more visible middle finger waved in his direction.

Connor was not amused, unable to focus beyond the words flickering across his visual HUD.

You suck.

“I disagree,” Connor murmured, LED circling yellow as he pushed himself up onto his feet. “I don’t think you’re incredible, Detective Reed. I think you’re a pompous asshole who is letting a streak of luck get to his head.”

“You think this is a streak of luck?” Gavin scoffed, brows rising as he stood his ground. It was difficult to mask either human’s surprise as Connor rounded the desk and met the challenge head-on.

“Oh yes,” Connor smiled, lacing his hands behind his back. “Your efficiency in closing cases by yourself was respectable, but Hank is right--you’re simply riding RK900’s coattails. Your record for bringing in felony charges is volatile, to say the least. Statistically, you are due for a dip in productivity in the coming days.

“Whereas Hank and myself have a consistent and stable record of arrests. We may not close cases as rapidly as you and your partner, however, there are no periods in which activity grows stagnant.”

Connor took pleasure in the fall of the detective’s smile, LED continuing to circle a slow yellow as the heat in the detective’s eyes shifted from prideful to pissed.

“I truly hate to be the one to inform you of this, Detective but--”

The android’s soft smile hardened into the lopsided, shit-eating grin that Gavin had abandoned.

“You suck.”

Only a few months ago, he might have punched Gavin for every attempting to touch him—a promise he’d already made with a hard-knuckled kiss to the detective’s temple in the interrogation room. Time was friendly, however, and the fingers that curled into his collar to yank him closer did not register threat in the same way that cocked pistol had.

This was affection; mean-spirited, perhaps, but affection all the same.

Plus, if Gavin had truly meant harm, Hank would have certainly been jumping to his feet rather than reclining further to watch the show.

“You really think you’re hot shit? Y’ain’t the android sent by Cyberlife anymore,” Gavin hissed, cheeks flushing as Connor continued to watch him with the careful, slow blue churns of his LED. “You’re just another detective I’m going to run into the dirt as I climb the ladder. A really shitty rung on the totem pole.”

Connor smiled as he was tugged closer to the stewing detective, silently marveling at the man’s ability to flip-flop through emotions at the drop of a hat. It certainly didn’t make for a stable professional, but he had to admit that Gavin was good at his job. But as a leader?

“I do feel rather sorry for you, Detective,” Connor whispered, voice dripping with fake apathy. His LED flickered yellow as he registered RK900’s approach, although unwilling to tear his gaze away from the fiery glare aimed up at him. “While I’m happy you no longer perceive me a threat, I want to assure that you were correct in your original assessment of android law enforcement.

Gavin blanched as Connor reached up to curl his long fingers around the white-knuckled fist holding his collar. “We are effortlessly better than you and have every capability of replacing you should order or desire dictate us to do so.”

Connor’s smile only widened at the tickle of humor that bubbled across the shared interface he kept open with RK900 while at work.

The detective’s fingers unclasped from Connor’s collar as he made to step away, scowling as he was held in place by the android’s superior strength. Leaning forward, Connor forced an artificial breath to ghost over the soft skin of Gavin’s earlobe as he hissed—

_“Human scum.”_

“Fuck off!”

Hank’s barked laughter masked the short, staticked snicker that tittered out of android at Gavin’s yank. Leaning against the Lieutenant’s desk, even RK900 appeared to struggle to remain neutral, lips twitching upward from his usual grimace.

Gavin’s face was flushed red with irritation and embarrassment as he skittered back a few feet, holding his coffee close to his chest as a weak barrier to protect himself from the amused android.

“You ain’t shit, Connor! I may not be able to beat you in a fight—“

“A proven fact,” Connor confirmed with the nod of his head, hands lacing once more behind his back.

“—but I’m still a better fucking detective than you’ll ever be. You may be deviant and have fancy fucking coding, but you’ll never be able to out-think a human. We’re the ones who can better rationalize the chaotic fucking nature of criminals. All you got is statistics.”

RK900 suffered under Gavin’s glare as he turned to a snickering Anderson. “Should I be offended, Lieutenant? I’m afraid my social protocols are ill-suited in dealing with smack talk—or whatever this is.”

“Nah,” Hank assured with the wave of his hand, settling an amused gaze on the bristling detective. “Gavin’s just spouting shit without offering to back it up. Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, Reed.”

Gavin’s brows rose at the challenge, motioning with his mug back toward a mouthy criminal struggling against Chris Miller’s hold on his cuffs. “I would assume that arrest is liquid enough for you,” The detective snarled, bravado forced into his words to mask the continued flush of his cheeks.

“Oh, I agree with Lieutenant Anderson,” RK900 spoke up, arms crossed casually across his chest as he stared down the bickering pair, the corner of his lips quirking as life fought against his perpetual frown. “I find the prospect of a challenge intriguing and a wonderful opportunity to stimulate productivity in both of our partners.”

Connor’s smile fell as he glanced toward his successor, brows furrowing at the ghost of a smirk that undercut the clinical analysis. “… You’re enjoying this, RK900.”

“Quite,” RK900 confirmed.

“I don’t see the point in competing with this guy,” Gavin huffed, crossing his free hand across his chest as he took a sip from his mug. “There’s nothing I want from him aside from his complete and utter humilia—“

 

_“I want your jacket.”_

 

Gavin’s shoulders squared, gaze flickering from his partner to the android standing before him.

“Excuse me?”

Connor’s gaze didn’t waver as he stared the detective down, head tilting ever so slightly to the right, loose curl bouncing against his brow.

“Should a challenge initiate and I win, I want your jacket,” He clarified, fighting a smile as Gavin’s hand dropped to the hem of the jacket. “Your desk lacks personal touches, and your car is a standard lease. The only thing that you appear to hold any sentimental value for is that jacket.

Lips pursed, the detective glanced down to his jacket, running his thumb alone a stitched seam on the inner lining. Apprehension was evident in the knit of his brow—something Connor completely grabbed onto as he dangled the bait closer to the detective’s nose.

“You’re welcome to decline,” Connor smiled, taking the few precious steps forward to close the distance between them. Irritation flickered in Gavin’s expression as the android leaned forward as his voice lowered. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

Connor’s pre-construction abilities accounted for many reactions from the short detective. There was a 34.8% chance Gavin would physically retaliate from either the words or close proximity of the android before him. The roll of his shoulders and vein in his neck were clear indicators of his legendary temper flaring beneath the silent grit of his teeth.

There also existed a 48.3% chance he would simply break down enough yelling and swearing to draw Captain Fowler from his stilted, glass tower—resulting in either another exasperated reaming or a strike on his endless record.

The remaining 16.9% was a culmination of various reactions and actions that strayed outside of Gavin’s known behavioral patterns but lived as possibilities regardless.

Color Connor surprised when his goading stare was met with the rise of steely gray eyes and a widened grin. Letting go of his jacket, Gavin’s fingers returned to Connor’s collar, curling in questionable contrast to his angry grab only moments before.

The android’s LED circled yellow as he was yanked close, smile falling from his face as he rapidly closed the notifications that popped into the corners of his vision—measurements of the detective’s heart rate, sensors pinging at the feel of breath brushing his jaw, social protocols working overtime as they rapidly produced scenarios offering suggestions on appropriate actions in regards to intimacy.

 

_“I want a date.”_

 

Connor’s LED immediately fell red at the low-timbered whisper, eyes widened at the demand. It was enough confusion to wipe his mind clear, which was a miracle in itself.

“…What?”

“If I win,” Gavin began to clarify, smile morphing into the shit-eating grin that dimpled his cheeks. “I want to take you on a date.“

Breaking his stare, Connor jerked his head to the side to glance to their partners, horrified to find that he was on his own in figuring out what the fuck Gavin was playing at. Hank’s cheeks were red with amusement, nose buried in his mug as he did his best to stifle his laughter. Even RK900 appeared to be struggling, LED flickering between yellow and blue as his long, pale fingers splayed thoughtfully across his lips.

“I… I uh…”

“Oh it’s gonna be the fucking worst too,” Gavin grinned, releasing the frozen android with a harmless shove as he turned to face Hank. “Does Bonnie’s Discount Botany and Fertilizer still sell corsages year round?”

  
“Mm, yeah think so,” Hank snickered, leaning into the edge of his desk as he grinned back at the detective. “Usually keeps ‘em in the refrigerator near the register with the bait and tackle.”

Connor’s whispered confusion over the market for fishing products in downtown, metropolitan Detroit went ignored as a hand was thrust into his face.

“Six months,” Gavin declared, voice losing the mirth that had been dripping from it like honey. “Whoever processes the most felony charges in six months is the winner. RK900’s big robot brain will keep track of the score and send us constant updates.”

“No, he won’t,” RK900 spoke up, LED flickering an irritated yellow as he was waved off by his detective.

Connor’s lips pressed together as his LED matched his successors, fingers tightening and untightening in their grasp behind his back. Gavin’s grin only widened as he savored every silent and thoughtful churn of the android’s brain.

“You’re welcome to decline,” Gavin said in a mockery of Connor’s voice, leaning forward in the same fashion the android had.

“It’s okay to be afra—“

 

**Clap!**

 

The detective let out a barking laugh as Connor’s hand slapped into his own—fingers tightening on his mug as his arm was shaken with violent enthusiasm.

“Alright,” Hank chuckled, turning back to his terminal as Connor released Gavin’s hand and subsequently put distance between them. “So. March 31st. Zero to zero. Get to work, boys.”

“Actually it’s sixty-three to zero,” Gavin called out as RK900 took his shoulder and began to lead him backward towards their shared desks. The android’s low ‘that doesn’t count’ was met with a harmless sneer before he was uncaringly shoved towards his chair.

Connor was silent as he sat back down at his desk, LED having yet to return to its ordinarily calm blue.

_A date._

A date with Gavin Reed, the most obnoxious, confusing human he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting.

A date with Gavin Reed that was intended to fail…

 

_“There’s nothing I want from him aside from his complete and utter humiliation.”_

 

“You okay there, kid?” Hank asked, leaning sideways to better watch the neutral faced android and observed the tight square of his shoulders.

Blinking himself back to reality, Connor’s eyes flickered up from where they had been staring at his knuckles. After a short pause, the android gave a small nod and raised his hand to begin interfacing with the terminal before him.

“We best get started, Lieutenant.”

“We’ve got no open cases, Connor. Started on what?” Hank hummed, resting his chin on his hand as he watched the android’s LED flash red.

“We best get started on destroying Gavin _fucking_ Reed,” Connor murmured, glancing over to the said man across the office. He was going to get that jacket or die trying.

At least if he were dead, he wouldn’t have to even think about the possibility of going on a date with the precincts resident goblin. Noticing he was being watched, Gavin smirked and blew Connor a kiss before turning back to his own work and the annoyed shake of RK900’s head.

Connor scowled.

“I’m going to eat him alive.”

Hank snorted. “You can’t eat Connor.”

 

A pause.

 

“Metaphorically.”

 


	2. Underhanded Tactics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added another chapter to this fic. These scenes weren't supposed to be anything but snippets but HERE I GO. 
> 
> It might be fun to extend the competition to another chapter. I very much enjoy writing this fic.

 

  
**April 3rd, 0 | 0**

 

  
Hank let out a soft groan as he leaned into Connor’s shoulder, long hair brushing the android’s chin as his head dropped to his chest. The energy within the precinct was lethargic and churning as shifts changed over.

Since the revolution, the precinct continued to suffer from staffing issues due to the mass evacuation of the city. Many of the officers that had previously worked for the DPD had failed to return--either due to their ill-defined prejudices or employment elsewhere.

This understaffing had resulted in a volatile reformatting of the schedule for dayshift / nightshift, often requiring the cooperation and flexibility of every member of the force.

Thankfully, whether due purely to luck or a pair of baseball tickets Anderson may or may not have slipped onto Fowler’s desk, they were mainly dayshift.

“Honestly Connor,” Hank groaned, fingers scrabbling across the tabletop before him to curl desperately around his mug. “Just put me out of my misery. It’s too early for this fucking shit.”

“I’ll shoot you out back later,” Connor assured gently, reaching up behind the weight of the Lieutenant to pat, pat him on the back. A lopsided smile pulled onto his face as a rumbling laugh shook against his shoulder before his eyes returned to the front of the briefing room.

The first Monday of every week called for updates from all detectives amid shift change; At the handover of the baton. Explanations of leads, evidence, suspects and the like were laid before the precinct for input, supplemental evidence from one case often linking to other active cases. Connor saw the value in the activity and very much enjoyed cataloging the thought processes and techniques of his fellow detectives.

Everyone else thought it was a waste of energy, especially those few nightshift detectives forced to stick around longer for the briefing.

Traveling over the backs of the many officers sat before them, Connor’s eyes quickly landed on the broad shoulders of his successor. While it was strange that the younger android insisted on continuing to wear the high collared jacket displaying his model number and previous affiliation, he understood the desire to retain something familiar. Something grounding.

It was much the reason why he’d chosen not to remove his LED like many of the other androids after the revolution. Connor was not a human, would never be a human. Why pretend for the comfort of others?

 

_< Good Morning, RK900.>_

 

A soft huff of laughter ghosted past Connor’s lips as he saw the minute twitch in the younger android’s shoulders, head turning back towards his predecessor.

 

_< Hello, RK800, Designation: Connor.>_

_< Just Connor is fine.>_

 

A pause.

 

_< I understand, RK800, Designation: Connor. My apologies. >_

 

“Why is your LED flickering?” Hank asked as he leaned away from Connor to nurse his coffee better, side-eyeing his partner as the mug lifted to his lips.

“I’m talking to RK900,” Connor shrugged, watching as RK900 turned back around to face the front, hands folded on the table in front of him.

“Freaky android ESP shit,” Hank grumbled, slouching in his chair as his legs splaying out before him. “Probably valuable as shit but nothing I’ll ever get used to. I’m sure the conversations you two have are as riveting as RK900’s personality.”

 

_< Does Lieutenant Hank Anderson take issue with me?>_

_< Of course not. He is being what humans might call ‘passive-aggressive’.>_

 

“He can hear you,” Connor hummed with a small smile, turning a cold eye to the human at his elbow. “I’d suggest being a little kinder to RK900. Due to the heavy modifications Cyberlife performed on his programming, he is adjusting to deviancy at a much slower rate than your average android.”

The lieutenant sipped guilty at his coffee, offering a nod and a gruff ‘sorry’.

RK900 turned to glance back at the pair, expression unreadable. _< Detective Reed has referred to Lieutenant Anderson as a ‘bitch’ on many occasions. Would you say that this is a reasonable descriptor?>_

The older android had no reply to the request for clarification, aside from a titter of humor that vibrated between their interface.

“The RK900 has called you a bitch, Lieutenant,” Connor hummed, folding his hands in his lap as Hank let out a loud snort of amusement. “He would like to know if he is correct in his observation.”

“Damn straight,” Hank confirmed, offering a small grin and nod to the watchful RK900. The younger android appeared satisfied in this answer, returning the nod and turning to the front with a slight uptick to his lips.

The buzz of the briefing room tapered off as Ben Collins made his way to the front, a tablet nursed in one hand and a doughnut in the other. Taking a large bite out of the sprinkled monstrosity, the detective dropped the tablet onto the podium and turned to face the waiting officers.

“Alright, kids. I know how much y’all love listening to this old man talk, but I’m just about ready to drop dead from an overnight,” Ben droned, propping an elbow upon the wood of the stand before motioning to the crowd with his pastry. “We’re gonna ‘lightning round’ this motherfucker, and then I’m taking my ass home.”

Connor agreed with the bubble of disappointment that shifted between his connection with RK900, both having looked forward to a more in-depth analysis of the active cases. Gaze flickering briefly to the back of the RK900’s head, the older android frowned as he made a troubling observation.

 

_< RK900, where is Detective Reed?>_

 

The shrug of the android’s shoulders was answer enough, head turning to glance to the empty chair at his side before switching to Collin’s face.

Troubling.

“Alright, let's start with bad news. Anyone want to share their fuck ups with the class?”  
  
There was an uncomfortable moment during which no one moved or breathed, silently wracking their brains for anything to share, willingly or otherwise. The painful, abrupt squeal of a chair’s feet against tile drew all eyes to the back as Captain Allen stood.

The man looked exhausted as he wandered down the aisle of tables to the front of the room, dark circles under his eyes and pallor similarly ashen. Running a hand through his usually slicked hair, the man turned to face the officers with a heavy-set frown.

“At 0200 hour this morning, my team descended upon what was disclosed to us as a red ice smuggling operation in the Lower East side of the city. The information given to us detailed the facility as being manned by a total of twelve individuals, acting as a cross-dock between manufacturer and dealer.

Our mission was to infiltrate the operation, arrest the local members, and seize all equipment and supply that was being stored within. The preparations we took leading up to this infiltration were limited and based solely on the report given to us by our informant. I had twenty men under my command and a detailed game plan that should have been foolproof. Had our information not been wrong.”

The Captain swallowed thickly as he paused, crossing his arms across his chest as his gaze flickered to the floor. The atmosphere in the room had grown most dark, all eyes on the cloudy, quiet anger that seized the SWAT Captain.

“It’s my understanding that our informant confessed everything he knew to the syndicate before our arrival. His body was found at the scene. Thirty armed men were waiting for us, who did not hesitate in opening fire,” Allen muttered, nose wrinkling in barely concealed anger. “Three of my men were shot, one of whom in critical condition. We were successful in making our arrests with no casualties in the crossfire and seized three tons of undistributed red ice.”

The awkward silence preceding the Captain’s report returned, broken by occasional coughs and a subdued yawn at Connor’s side. Hank only shrugged when the android glanced over, sipping at his coffee.

“That’s it?” A voice asked from the back of the room, shattering the awkward, morose silence.

Connor turned in his chair and caught a glimpse of a familiar jacket as its speaker pushed off the wall. The LED at his temple spun a troubled yellow as Gavin walked past, moving towards the front and a now very annoyed Captain Allen.

“That’s your reported failure?” Gavin asked again, hands shoved into his pockets as he roamed. “You successfully raided a red ice operation and arrested thirty motherfuckers, seized $14 million in product, with zero casualties--then proceed to call that a failure? You fuckin’ with me?”

“Three of my men were shot,” Allen repeated through grit teeth, glaring as Gavin came to a stop at his side. “One of them is in criti--”

“We’ll send ‘em a gift basket and put a donation jar in the breakroom. You’re done,” The detective sneered, pulling his hands from his pockets to wave the captain away; Limp wrists motioned back and forth. “Shoo, it’s my turn.”

Detective Collins only shrugged in disinterest at the incredulous glance the Captain sent his way before storming from the room in an angry huff--muttering about ‘fucking stuck up detectives’ and ‘this is why I made the move to SWAT’.

Watching the Captain’s furious retreat was cut short as clapping sounded at the front, drawing all eyes to the Detective calling for attention. Connor noted similar exhaustion in Gavin’s face as he turned to wheel a dry erase board to the center of the room, taking note that Gavin and RK900 were currently drafted to the night shift for the week.

RK900 hesitated as he was motioned to join the detective at the front of the room, glancing back to his predecessor as a manilla folder was lifted from the table. While the android’s face was decidedly neutral on most occasions, an apology flickered in the pull of his frown and the golden churn of his LED.

_< Are you alright?>_ Connor asked, watching as the folder was shoved none-too-kindly into Gavin’s outstretched hand.

No response was given.

Slapping a picture to the board, Gavin turned to grin at the watchful officers as he stepped to the side. “This motherfucker is Mario Beneducci, known formally as Mr. B within the many trafficking syndicates in Detroit. This guy got his start stealing service industry androids, resetting them, and selling them in the underground for god knows what.

Cocksucker didn’t think to stop after the spread of deviancy and the President’s declaration of personhood. Thought he’d just get hit with a ‘theft charge’, stupid son of a bitch.”

Connor frowned at the mugshot tacked to the board, noting that Mr. B had been processed into their custody at 0400 hours. Why Gavin was bringing this up now was beyond him.

“So Nines and I--”

“RK900. I refuse to accept my designation as Ni--”

“So **Nines** and I are on a stakeout, right?” Gavin begins again, meeting his android’s glare with as much irritated glow as was being aimed back at him. “I’m on my third cup of coffee, and I’m low on cigs, so I say ‘Hey Iron Giant. You stay here and keep watch while I run down the street to the GoMart’”

“Truly the tact every officer should display on a stakeout,” Collins jeers around a mouthful of doughnut. Sprinkles fall to the tile floor as he chuckles, shaking his head as Gavin’s raised finger falls back to his side.

Gavin’s scowl disappeared as he turned back to the mugshot on the board, smile wide. “Nines ain’t please but keeps watching like the creepy terminator he is. So I grab my wallet and scoot my ass down the street, and you will never guess who I see.”

“Is it Mario Beneducci?” Hank gasps, pulling his mug to his chest in faux shock.

“It’s **Mario Beneducci** ,” Gavin confirms with his own brand of fake enthusiasm, meeting Hank’s grin with a wink. “Get this. This motherfucker is not only the kingpin of a god damn trafficking ring, but he works the twilight shift at a fuckin’ off-brand 7/11. So I go in, I’m browsin’ the snack jerky, I’m readin’ the labels on bottles of water--”

“Genius,” RK900 grumbled, arms folded behind his back.

“--And I hear the bell above the door ring,” Gavin continues, ignoring the android’s comment as another photo is removed from the stack, slapped next to the original.

Most androids could not consume solid foods or non-thirium based liquids. There existed no central stomach for the processing and containment of fluids. The throat of an android contained a filtration system that sorted thirium to the biocomponents that demanded it.

Connor did not have a stomach.

“Look familiar, tincan?” Gavin asked, turning his hungry gaze to the RK800.

If he did, however, it would have dropped.

“Edward Hartshorn,” Connor grated, LED flickering red as he stared at the mugshot freshly posted to the board. “Leader of the East Watch street gang and known for the distribution of illegally obtained thirium. He has been the biggest provider of raw thirium to Red Ice manufacturers in the Midwest region. Before and after the revolution.”

He was also the main suspect in Connor’s most active case.

Gavin’s confirming hum, an ‘Mhmm’ that drew out singsong-like, hiked Connor’s stress levels. Hank watched in mild interest as the android' fingers curled threateningly around the edge of the table.

The detective paced the front of the room, half-pirouetting his turns with an obnoxious, excited energy. “So Eddy walks in and goes to the register to chat with my boy. And I watch with my own two eyes as a fucking wad of cash is passed over the counter and inserted into the till--because it’s totally reasonable to be keeping tens-of-thousands-of-dollars in a fuckin’ convenience store register.”

“It’s easy enough to text RK900 to get his metal ass over here before I hit record on their conversation. These two fuckin’ idiots are talking fuckin’ business next to a goddamn candy display. Shipments, names, drop locations, money. God, it was golden. I wanted to cry.

You should have seen their faces when RK900 comes sauntering through the door in all of his toy-soldier swagger. And then there’s my ass jumping out from behind the jerky stand like ‘DPD, hands up, motherfuckers’ And before Mario could even get his fingers around his shotgun, Nines has already knocked him flat on his ass. God, I was so proud.”

Soft blue flushes into the tall android’s cheeks as his shoulder is pat-patted affectionately, LED circling yellow as his eyes cast to the floor.

Glancing back to Connor, Gavin’s smirk widened into a predatory grin as the folder was opened once more. “Your files were really helpful, Connor. I truly appreciate it. With Mario and Eddy in custody and the recording of their conversation, they sang like fuckin’ birds when it came to their underlings.”

Photo after photo was tacked around the two crime lords, all registered as having been processed within the early hours of the morning. In total, nine men and two androids stared back at the watchful officers, many sporting a black eye or two.

“You know we’re talking about fuck ups right now, right Gavin?” Ben asked, amusement clear in his expression as he watched the detective scoop up a marker from the board’s edge.

“Oh I know,” Gavin chimed as the cap of the marker was pulled off with an audible ‘pop’. The felt tip of the pen squeaked unwelcomely as a box was drawn in the corner of the board. “And I’m totally about to get to my point.”

The cheap wood of the table let out sharp ‘crack’ under Connor’s heavy grip, LED falling red as his name was drawn in a divided box, next to Reed. Beneath his own, a zero was scribbled with an added ‘:-(‘ emphasizing his failure. The 11 marked beneath the detective’s score was scored with arrogant, swift stabs.

“I’m not the one who fucked up,” Gavin clarified, taking a few steps back to admire his work. The pen clicked again as the cap was shoved back on. Turning, the detective grinned as he met Connor’s glare, touching the cap of the marker to his temple in a mock salute. “Connor is.”

RK900 had the gall to look ashamed as he glanced to his predecessor. _< Your files were quite helpful, RK800. I apologize for the Detective’s _displ _\-- >_

 

_< Shut up, Nines.>_

 

\-----

 

  
**April 22nd, 2 | 12**

“You aren’t gonna eat me once I close my eyes, right?”

 

A soft mewl sounded closest to his ear as a furry head nuzzled into the scruff of his jaw. Gavin let out a soft, wheezing laugh that quickly devolved into a cough. His shoulders shook as he curled in on himself, hacking into his sleeve as the coughing fit shook his frame and scared his cat away from the couch.

Fuck. He was dying. This was bullshit.

Dropping his head back onto the pillow, Gavin let out an audible groan as he wiped the sweat from his brow--wondering if death indeed was that bad of an option. His lungs felt like they were on fire as he panted, breath hot and ragged. His stomach, despite being empty and shrunken due to a many-a-missed meal, rolled with nausea.

But he was not sick. Gavin Reed did not get sick during an investigation.

That’s what he’d told himself at the asscrack of dawn when he’d rolled out of bed, fumbling for that phone alarm insistent on boring holes into his brain. His cat, typically just as persistent in begging for her morning meal, only watched curiously as he’d stumbled about his morning routine.

He was not sick. Just tired, yup, tired.

Dragging his ass out of his apartment, Gavin had half a mind to catch up on sleep during the ride to work. While he usually enjoyed setting his vehicle to manual, the detective had instead chosen to plug in the precincts address and curled up in the driver’s seat.

It was a shame that every bump in the road kept him awake, jostling his aching brain against his skull.

He was not sick. That’s what he’d told himself as he opened the door and expelled his morning coffee to the concrete of the parking garage. Maybe his creamer was out of date. Yup. Not sick.

“I cannot allow you to work in this condition, Detective,” Nines had said an hour after his arrival, unashamed in having watched his partner slide lower and lower into his chair. “I insist you take leave and return--”

“Blow me, tincan,” Gavin groused beneath the lip of his desk, glaring up at his screen. Fuck, was something wrong with his monitor? Why were the words bleeding together? Maybe he should up the contrast.

Nines glared over his terminal at the suffering detective; a soft tut clicked against his teeth. “Believe me, detective. While I could give you an accurate diagnosis while performing such an act, I would never put my mouth somewhere so ...germ infested.”

This wasn’t fair. The RK900 was not allowed to gain a sense of humor when he was feeling like shit.

“Phck you.”

The click of steps against tile sounded to Gavin’s right, coming to a stop at his shoulder. Rolling his head along his chest, the detective glared up at an amused Hank, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

“Kid, you look like shit.”

“Your mom looks like shit.”

The Lieutenant laughed with a short shake of his head. “Well given that she’s been buried in a metal box for the last twenty years, you’re probably right.”

“Maybe you should let her out,” Gavin grumbled as he shimmied back up in his seat, closing his eyes against the bright light of his terminal. Fucking paperwork. If Hank had made a zombie apocalypse joke, it was lost in the pounding buzz filling his ears.

“M’fine,” The detective insisted, pressing his sweaty brow into his hands. How could someone be chilled to the bone but so fucking sticky at the same time? This was preposterous.

A large hand landing on his shoulder drew his face from his hands and to the concerned face of his lieutenant hunched to his right. “There’s no shame in taking a sick day, Gavin,” Hank murmured gently, offering the younger man a gentle squeeze. “No good will come of you working yourself to the bone.”

“I said I’m--” Turning in his chair to glare at the Lieutenant, Gavin paused as he met a pair of dark eyes from across the precinct. Red spun in Connor’s LED as he watched the pair, concern in the knit of his brow. The coin he was so annoyingly keen on tossing between his hands sat stilled, forgotten between his knuckles.

Gavin’s tongue went dry as the android got to his feet and walked carefully across the bullpen, stopping at Hank’s side.

“May I?” Connor asked vaguely, coin pocketed as he raised his hand in front of the confused detective. Gavin only stared, brows furrowed has his brain slowed to a crawl, unsure what exactly the android was asking permission for.

When a cool palm pressed to his forehead, fingertips brushing through the fine sweat-soaked hairs at his temple,   
Gavin’s eyes fell shut. Whatever weird android bullshit Connor was pulling, the detective was willing to oblige, pressing into the crisp, synthetic skin.

If he let out a moan of pleasure, only Hank’s soft snicker gave it away.

“You have a fever of 103.2 Fahrenheit, Detective Reed,” Connor murmured, leaving his hand where it was despite having obtained the information he’d been seeking. “Go home. Please.”

The android’s please dropped in octave as the world around Gavin lurched, weight pressing to his shoulders by invisible hands. Fuck. He wasn’t sick. He wasn’t sick.

Gavin’s voice slurred as he reached up to curl fingers desperately around the android’s wrist, focusing all of his attention on the hand touching him. Anchoring him, preventing him from falling into the pit that was threatening to consume him. “I have work… I have work to do... I have--”

“Gavin?”

Maybe he was a little sick.

Black bled into the corners of his eyes as his weight fell forward, cool touch disappearing from his head as he was caught under the arms. Eased back into his chair, words were exchanged above his head--up in the bright, buzzing, twisting fog that sapped his strength.

Large hands hoisted the detective to his feet, easing his arms into the jacket that had been hanging from the back of his chair. Keys jingled as they were retrieved from his desk before an arm curled around his waist.

“Come, Detective,” Nines urged, leading the man from the bullpen at a careful pace, considerate of his stumbling step. “Captain Fowler has been notified that you will be leaving for the day. I will drive you home to ensure your condition does not worsen.”

Any protest that might have passed over his lips those hours ago had gone ignored by the android’s determined step.

Fucking androids.

Turning over onto his back, Gavin glared up at the late afternoon shadows that traveled his ceiling, broken into dark pillars by his drawn blinds. Confident that the coughing fit had ended, his cat had resumed her perch on his chest, head tucked into the crook of his arm.

An untouched bottle of water sat within arms reach on the coffee table, two pills leaning against the cheap plastic. Nines’ order to drink water and rest had gone ignored, more interested in throwing the world's greatest pity party.

A threat had been tossed to the ill detective on his partner’s way out, cool eyes drilling holes into the sweaty lump on the couch. “If I find that you’ve even accessed your files before your return, I will make sure you regret it.”

Yeah. Big threats. Fuck you, IBM.

What was the fucking harm in sending a delirious email to forensics--perhaps a borderline threat to the coroner for missing a fucking defensive wound on the victim's wrist? Dying or not, Gavin wasn’t going to let an incompetent hack fuck up his investigation.

His arm dropped like an anchor over the edge of the couch as he fished for his cell, fingertips brushing against shag carpet until they’d connected to the warn plastic of his phone case. A soft hiss breezed through Gavin’s teeth as his screen activated, the ever cherished photo of his cat blinding his retinas.

The man scowled upon noticing the email server had been disconnected from his phone--strange given the internet connection notification at the top of his screen. It was then that he saw an untitled email sitting at the top of his inbox.

 

> FROM: RK900 #313 248 317-87  
> TO: GReed@DetPDNA.com
> 
> ‘I warned you.’

 

A soft shudder rattled up the detective's spine as he read the message, cold dread cooling the sweat on his brow. No. Not dread. He was sick.

Simply si--

Knock, knock.

Gavin’s head spun as he sat up abruptly, blanket pooling into his lap. His cat mewled pathetically as she sunk into the cushion at his thigh, unwilling to move from the feverish warmth of his body.

Knock, knock.

“Phck.”

As rebellious as he liked to be in the RK900’s presence, finding great pleasure in any mild misery he could cause the man--he should have fucking listened.

Should have known that his death was destined to arrive at the Terminator’s hands rather than a fucking stomach bug.

Pushing the blankets off his legs, Gavin climbed unsteadily to his feet and followed the knocking at a snail’s pace. An umbrella was scooped up during his travels as the knocking became more insistent, furious, pounding.

Raising his makeshift weapon, Gavin swallowed the lump in his throat as he came to a stop at the entryway, willing himself to reach for the handle.

Perhaps he’d waited too long as a loud crack shook the heavy wooden door.

Gavin swung in tandem with the burst of his door, eyes clenching shut as the world spun with the motion of the umbrella. An immovable force abruptly stopped the arc of his weapon as a hand settled to his side to catch his stumbling feet.

“Gavin?”

The umbrella’s handle was slipped from his fingers as the murder-bot’s palm pressed more securely to the base of his spine. Blinking past the bright spots in his vision, Gavin’s brows furrowed as he realized that the icy tundra he had been expecting turned out to be midnight brown.

“...Did you break my fucking door, Connor?”

Embarrassment flushed the android’s cheeks blue as the smallest of smiles pulled crookedly at pink lips.

“I thought you were in trouble,” Connor explained, excuse falling flat as the sincerity of his tone wavered. “Also, to be fair, you just tried to kill me with an umbrella.”

“I thought you were Nines,” Gavin grumbled, pressing his hand to the android’s chest to push away from the far-too-compromising position he’d in which he'd fallen. Connor’s hand fell to his side. “You’re paying for that lock.”

“Is that how you normally greet my successor?” Connor asked, paper crinkling from the bag in his hand as he turned to push the door back into the broken frame. “Do I need to have 'the talk' with you about hurting my brother?”

The detective rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders as he trudged back to his couch.

Dropping back into the mass of cushions and blankets, Gavin leaned into the arm of the sofa as he watched Connor follow his path. “We all have to have our kinks. I try to jump the big bastard at the drop of a hat, and he chokes me out. Symbiotic, baby. It’s why we work well together.”

Connor said nothing, eyes flickering over the contents of the room as he stood awkwardly at the other end of the coffee table. On any other occasion, he might have berated the android for scanning his shit--but there weren’t many moments that he’d have an excuse to do his own scan.

He would never admit this aloud, but Gavin appreciated how imperfect Connor was compared to many of the mass-produced models walking the streets.

While he held himself with a posture of strength and confidence, the android’s physical build was a bit lean and awkward. The cut of his jaw was thinner, and his nose had almost an imperceivable notch at the bridge.

Add to that sun kisses on across his synthetic skin and drawn lines of exhaustion he would never know beneath his eyes--it was strangely perfect.

Connor was perfect, the bastard.

“Are you two… Are you and Nines toge--?”

If only he wasn’t as fucking dense as a rock.

The bark of laughter that pulled out Gavin rolled his shoulders forward with his first cough; head dropped between his knees during his second. The fire in his lungs resumed as he hacked, pressing the sleeve of his wrist to his mouth.

Paper rustled again as the bag Connor had brought was placed upon the coffee table before a weight settled at the human’s side, A hand followed, pressing to the detective’s shoulder blades and pathing a course up-down-up-down. Comforting, reassuring. It was nice.

“No,” Gavin wheezed, choked, gasped as his coughs grew quieter. The offset weight of the cushions had him leaning slightly into the android.

“No?”

A wheeze. A cough. “RK and I-- You don’t eat where you shit, Connor.”

Yellow flared in Connor’s LED. “I don’t under--”

“No, we aren’t together. I’m not interested in that sort of thing with that metal lug,” Gavin clarified, dropping his hand to his lap as he finally resumed control of his breathing.

Connor said nothing, only offering a curt nod as he pulled his hand back to his lap. A small shuffle put distance between the two again, thighs brushing as the blankets were rearranged amid the action. An awkwardness bubbled in the silence that settled between the pair, broken only by the soft wheezing breaths of the sick man.

“Why are you here, Connor?” Gavin asked when the silence had gotten too much, pulling his legs up onto the couch to fold them beneath his thighs like a pretzel. “Seems out of character to drag your ass to this side of town when you’ve got Anderson and criminals to keep you company.”

Connor turned his head away from the detective, hiding his LED as he leaned forward to retrieve the paper bag on the table. “I wanted to check in on you. While your eating habits are atrocious and you could do with more sleep, I’ve never seen you fall ill before. I wanted to ensure that you took proper care of yourself.”

A tupperware container was set to the wood of the coffee table, amber soup sloshing against the sealed lip. Gatorade and various over-the-counter flu medicines followed, laid out in succession along the edge of the tabletop.

Gavin was silent as he watched the procession, chin resting on his knees, brows knit.

“....Why?” The man asked again, voice a touch quieter than his usually loud bravado.

Connor glanced over, LED churning a slow yellow as he fought for the right words to say. Mouth open. Close. Open. Closed.

“....Because I want to.”

Gavin frowned, guilt joining his illness in rolling his stomach into a tight knot. “We aren’t friends, Connor.”

“What if I want to be?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Gavin chuckled, watching the side of the android’s face as he fumbled with the items he’d brought. “I’m an asshole. You’ve got so many better options in friends than my pathet--”

“You aren’t pathetic,” Connor muttered, shifting to face the stunned detective more fully, lips pulled into a stern line. “Neither of us were good people when we first met. Chances are we will never be good people… But despite your arrogance and poor humor--”

“Hey now.”

“--you challenge me. You don’t treat me like a delicate child nor are you afraid of me; of what I used to be. So please excuse me if I enjoy your company.”

Gavin’s ears flushed pink through the android’s insistent rant, cheeks growing hot as he found himself unable to pull his eyes away from the electric, furious brown of the others.

Connor had pretty lashes.

Nope. He was just sick. Not straying there.

Letting out a defeated sigh, Gavin stretched out to nudge his toes into the android’s thigh. “Fine. I guess you aren’t half bad for a fucking tincan. We can be buddie-- a trial period of course. This doesn’t give you permission to punch me when I’m being a dick.”

“Oh,” Connor hummed, glancing down to the feet kneading into his thigh. “Well if that’s the case, friendship redacted.”

“Wow. Dick.”

 

Static tittered past a crooked grin as the android laughed.

 

\----

 

“You psycho bitch.”

 

His cat appeared nonplussed in being batted off his face, failed attempt at suffocating her human forgotten as she curled into the comforter of his bed.

Wait, his bed?

Sitting up, Gavin blinked into the darkness of his bedroom, gaze blearily traveling to the drawn curtains of his window. When had he ended up in bed?

The last thing he remembered doing was choking down the abomination Connor had called soup. It hadn’t been as terrible as he’d insisted, especially for something homecooked, but he’d undoubtedly threaten the fucker with his mother’s recipe on Monday.

They’d ended up watching a movie or something--some shitty made-for-TV bullshit that centered around a young, pretty android working for a chauvinist human fucker. He remembers feeling guilty as the dude spoke with the same arrogance as he had displayed before the revolution--”Follow orders like a good bot.” “You’re only here to take my job.” “You’re just a machine.”

Gavin’d had half a mind to apologize, confess his sins and beg forgiveness, had a thumb not drawn absently across the bone of his ankle, toes still pressed to Connor’s side.

Heat flushed Gavin’s face as he threw his legs over the side of the bed and climbed to his feet. Everything after that was a fucking blur.

Casual, friendly shit talk. A steadying hand on his shoulder. A cool hand brushing his hair back as he turned his face into his pillow.

Fuck.

Coursing fingers through his hair, the detective shuffled out of his room and into the front of the apartment, unsurprised to find his mess cleaned up. The tupperware container sat washed in the drying rack; Anderson noted in fading marker on the side. He’d need to return that.

Half prepared to go back to sleep, Gavin paused when he noticed a folder situated on the middle of his coffee table; a bright blue post-it slapped to the center.

Plopping down on the couch, the detective picked up the folder and frowned as he read the Cyberlfie-sans scribbled across the note.

 

> ‘Det. Reed,
> 
>  
> 
> Please do not return to work until Friday at the insistence of Captain Fowler. While he wants us to believe it is out of concern for your wellbeing, I’m privy to the face that you do not take your allotted vacation days unless hospitalized or under threat of termination.
> 
> You really should take some time off.
> 
> There is no need to worry about your workload. RK900 has agreed to allow Lieutenant Anderson and I to assume responsibility for a few of your cases.
> 
> Primarily that of **Anita Cumberlin**.’
> 
>  

“....Shit,” Gavin whispered, dread turning his stomach upon noticing the perfectly drawn ‘=-)’ next to his suspect's name.

 

> ‘I thought you’d enjoy reading some of my findings during your day off, perhaps to stimulate your brain. I think you’ll become a better detective if you leaned on your colleagues a bit more. I do have many things that I can teach you--first of which is bloodsplatter analysis.
> 
> I hope you get well soon, Detective. I look forward to trying out that soup recipe you promised me.
> 
> -Connor
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. Also what is your cat’s name?
> 
>  

A ball of fur jumped onto the arm of his chair, drawing his attention away from the folder to the watchful eyes of his girl. He wonders what Connor would think upon learning her name was ‘Trash Can’, dubbed upon her origin. It was an amusing thought.

What was /not/ amusing was opening the folder to find the processed mugshot of his suspect staring back at him, blood trickling from her eyebrow as she glared into the camera. Anita had been the leader of a rogue Anti-Android group, known for jumping human/android couples in public to make examples out of them.

While most of the humans had gotten away with only a few scratches, all of the androids had been ripped into scrap metal by the time a first responder had arrived at the scene.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Gavin flipped through more mugshots of the woman’s accomplices; all human and in their young adult years. While their names and locations had been on Gavin’s radar for weeks, they had no evidence to prove that this was the group behind the killings.

A piece of evidence he was unfamiliar fluttered into his lap from the folder, detailing a particular pattern of blood splatter on the exterior of Anita’s SUV. Blue blood belonging to the last victim trailed along the bumper of the car from the blunt force impact of a bat.

And the bat? In the stupid bitch’s trunk.

Flipping to the back of the folder, Gavin let out a groan as he picked up the final picture.

Another sticky note was tacked to it, this time yellow and written in far harsher strokes of the same font.

‘I warned you’.

Connor’s grin in the photo was wide, arm thrown around his stoic successor's shoulders as he pointed at the whiteboard over his shoulder.

22 | 12

Fucking insidious bastard.

Shaking his head, Gavin snickered to himself as he closed the file and dropped it back to his coffee table with a soft ‘plop’ His snickers turned into half-chuckles, half-coughs as he got back to his feet and moved into the kitchenette of his apartment.

Once Gavin got better, he’d close that gap and rub that slimy motherfucker’s nose in it.

But for now, it was time to feed his cat.

On the way to his pantry, Gavin stopped long enough to clip the picture to his fridge, Connor’s wide grin abandoned after a lingering glance to begin his search for Friskies Delight.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed what you read, please consider dropping a Kudos and/or Comment below!
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	3. Equal Footing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought I was dead? Oh ho ho ho. No, I just got busy and distracted.
> 
> But I'm back! Kindly enjoy the next chapter of the Bet which started out fun and got way more emotional than I anticipated. Please pay attention to the new tags. They are as followed:
> 
> \- Implied/Referenced Suicide. This is /mentioned/ NOT depicted. In this AU, Simon did kill himself during the main game. Sorry.  
> \- Graphic Depictions of Violence

 

 

May 15th, **24 | 22**

 

 

“I think I’d rather starve, Connor.”

“The amount of nutrients you can pack into a gelatin mold is immeasurable, Lieutenant! At least try--!”

Connor grew silent as Hank’s hand fell heavy to the desktop, face dark as he glared up at the android leaning over the barrier between their terminals. It was that same, wise darkness that had aged the Lieutenant’s face when he’d asked Connor long ago:

 

> _“Are you afraid to die?”_

 

If Connor’s stress levels spiked, it was only noticeable by the flicker of yellow in his LED.

“Connor,” Hank growled, rising slowly to his feet to meet the android at eye level, leaning his own weight into his desk. “Let me make this clear once-and-for-all…”

Damn assimilation protocols and the way they forced Connor to involuntarily swallow.

“Meat. Does not. Belong. In gelatin.”

Connor glared --readily prepared to educate his partner on the American food revolution of the ’50s and the commercial use of gelatin-byproducts in many processed meats--when his LED fell into a solid red.

“Connor?”

<Received from RK900(Today) 15:08:12> <Connor. Help.>

Hank let out a yell as Connor jerked away from his desk with a mechanical lurch, turning at a blind run for the door. The sound of the Lieutenant’s footfalls followed him.

<Sent by Connor (Today) 15:08:33> < What’s going on? Are you alright?>

<Received from RK900 (Today) 15:08:54> <I have several abrasions to my chassis and damage to a few of my minor subcomponents. My self-repair function has already sectioned off the area and is running a diagnostic.>

<Sent by Connor (Today) 15:09:04> <What aren’t you telling me?>

Hank glared at Connor as he reached his car, tossing his keys to the waiting android as he caught his breath. Connor said nothing as he got in the car, stress levels hiking as his successor delayed his response.

<Sent by Connor (Today) 15:10:31> <Nines?>

<Received from RK900 (Today) 15:10:33> <My legs aren’t functioning and my arm has been misplaced.>

The car lurched as it pulled out of the parking spot, drawing a yelp and a ‘dammit Connor!’ out of Hank.

<Sent by Connor (Today) 15:10:48> <We will interface when I arrive. Do not leave your current location.>

<Received from RK900 (Today) 15:10:55> <My legs are /not/ functioning, Connor, and Gavin is securing our suspects. The mission is complete.>

<Received from RK900 (Today) 15:11:04> <He appreciates you lending us a hand. I do not find his word choice humorous.>

Connor’s stress levels lowered as he let out the breath of a laugh. Hank watched the android curiously but didn’t press as he held onto the handle for dear life as the car raced through traffic.

It took roughly ten minutes for Hank’s car to turn into the side-alley registered to RK900’s signal, headlight illuminating the group waiting for their arrival at the end. The click of their doors opening echoed off the brick walls of the surrounding buildings and exemplified Gavin’s groan of disapproval.

“I was joking, tin can. We didn’t need their help.”

Connor’s LED rolled a solid yellow as he activated his scanners, taking in the conditions of the perpetrators and detectives alike.

Three men sat cuffed together near the base of a dumpster, bruises and scrapes littering their faces and jaws. One of them in particular has swelling welts growing on his face, as if he’d swallowed a jar of bees. An additional scan matched their faces to the surveillance video linked to a series of B&E’s that Reed and Nines had been investigating.

Mission complete, indeed.

Nines sat nearest the tethered criminals, legs splayed out in front of him as he relaxed back into the metal dumpster. His arm was completely missing, although, at a closer inspection, it appeared to have been a manual eject. Curious.

A thin trickle of thirium was drying along his neck. The wound had likely been closed by the self-repair function Nines had assured Connor of earlier.

What hadn’t closed up, however, was the twin streams of blood that Detective Reed was hiding behind the sleeve of his jacket, glaring at Connor and Hank’s approach from his perch upon the dumpster. The flesh above his right cheekbone was swelling beneath a darkening eye. Blood had clotted at his temple, bruising surrounding the hidden wound.

“I’d say you look like shit, Reed, but this is an improvement,” Hank called, hands stuffed into his pockets as he strolled over. A bark of laughter left the Lieutenant as Gavin used his free hand to flip the bird.

Scraped knuckles. Evidence of a physical altercation. Connor frowned.

“When will your legs be functional, RK900?” Connor asked, sidestepping the aching bunch of suspects as he fell to a crouch in front of his brother.

Nines lips twitched as he stared up at Connor, betraying his amusement behind his neutral mask. “The estimated completion of my repair is 12.43 minutes, give-or-take. If we initiate an interface, I can use you as a secondary processor and reduce that time to an estimated 4 minutes.”

Connor nodded, arm already offered before Nines’ suggestion had fully completed. Lifting his good hand (arguably his only hand), Nines clasped his fingers around Connor’s forearm and allowed his eyes to fall shut.

 

 _// Interface Initiated //_  
_//Connecting RK800 #313 248 317-53 to RK900 #313 248 317 -87//_  
_//Please wait. Contact Cyblerife if wait time exceeds five (5) minutes//_  
_//Connection to <CyberCloud> ? yes/(no) <<FUNCTION DISABLED>>//_  
_//PLEASE RETURN TO CYBERLIFE// //DISMISSED//_  
_//Interface Successful//_

_//Welcome Connor!//_

 

< I’d say that your software is friendly, but the amount of Cyberlife junk I had to pass through is absurd,> Connor huffed--or realistically thought given his reduction to ones and zeroes within Nines’ systems.

Nines amusement tickled over Connor’s code as he signaled where the repair was currently focusing on. Progress had already sped up significantly as Connor’s processors added power to Nines’ own.

<Show me what happened while we get his completed> Connor suggested, focusing all of his attention on the task before him and not the rich banter happening over his shoulder in the living world.

<Of course. I will set the beginning of my recording at 14:48:19 when we had begun our pursuit of the suspects. We had arrived shortly before to check up on a lead at the latest B&E when→

 

“How the fuck are these guys so successful?” Gavin huffed as he chased Nines up a stairwell. Given the angle that Nines was looking and the pounding of feet several stories up, they were in pursuit of multiple individuals. “I ain’t-a criminal, but even I know it’s stupid as shit to return to the scene of the crime!”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t be as exhausted as you are if you stayed silent, Detective,” Nines suggested, grabbing support beam at a turn in the stairwell to retain his momentum up a new flight.

Gavin huffed and puffed in annoyance, but took his partner’s polite suggestion in ‘shutting the fuck up’.

As they reached the access door to the room, RK900 pressed a hand to Gavin’s chest to halt him. Pushing the door ajar slightly with his foot, gunfire pinged against the metal frame before the first squeak of the hinges could sound.

Gavin let out a grunt as he was pulled to Nines chest, hidden bodily away behind the protection of his partner’s titanium shoulder blades. The human’s panting breath was hot on Nines’ neck as--

 

  
<Connor, you disconnected from the repair function.>

Embarrassment washed over Connor at Nines’ alert, thankfully sequestered out of notice of the other android. That was strange. Perhaps he should go to New Jericho for a full diagnostic.

<Sorry. It appears that I began to unconsciously analyze and catalog your recording,> Connor lied. <Too much processing power was devoted to the task. I will disable this function until your repair is complete.>

Nines did not dispute Connor’s excuse, allowing him to reconnect to the repair as quickly as he’d left it.

<Shall I pick up the recording where we left off?> Nines suggested, signaling in a notification that the repair would be completed in approximately 2.67 minutes.

Another notification from Connor’s own system warned of a hike of 2.8 degrees Fahrenheit within his body. It was dismissed as Connor consented to Nines’ suggestion.

 

  
As the gunfire continued to rain on the cracked, metal access door, the two waited--one catching his breath while the other counted bullets. Gavin startled where he was pressed to Nines chest as a hand brushed against this hip.

“What the f--” Gavin began to complain, growing silent when he felt his gun being retrieved from the holster secured to his waist. The gunfire abruptly fell silent--the clicking of empty chambers not lost to the android’s superior audio receptors.

“Stay behind me detect--”

Gavin caught Nines arm as he began to turn toward the door. “I want to drag these guys back to the precinct alive, Nines. We discharge our weapons only when necessary.”

Nines wanted to point out the display of violence that had already dented and seared to the access door. That the firing of his weapon or the potential use of lethal force was already appropriate when the criminals had previously attempted to take the officer’s lives.

But given the severity of the crime they were investigating and the fact that the three men had already run out of bullets, Nines offered a solemn nod. They were scared, not killers. Not yet.

Pulling his arm away, Nines pushed open the door and held his gun ready. Two of the men stood opposite the entrance at the other end of the roof, one scouting the edge while the other aimed his own weapon. A bead of sweat trailed down the suspect’s forehead.

“D-don’t move!” The armed man yelled, voice breaking as his gun trembled in his hands.

“Put your weapons down,” Gavin called from over Nines shoulder. “You don’t want to make this worse for yourselves than it already is. You kill us ‘n your petty crimes will land you fuckin’ life.”

Nines frowned as he took a tentative step forward, watching as the armed man glanced back to his partner. Both men looked nervous but obliged Gavin’s demands, dropping their guns to the floor.

“Get on your knees. Hands behind your head,” Nines instructed, walking toward the men as they lowered themselves to their knees slowly.

Gavin’s footfalls behind Nines came to a halt. “Wait, where’s the other--”

The wet crunch of metal hitting flesh had Nines turning quickly on his heel. The third suspect had hidden behind the door, waiting for the detectives to emerge onto the roof. Blood trickled at Gavin’s temple where the butt of the gun had been smashed, struggles muted as he was pulled into a headlock.

His fighting ceased entirely as the cold metal of the gun was pressed to his temple.

“You fuckin’ shoot me and I shoot him!” The third suspect snarled, digging the gun painfully into Gavin’s head as he tightened his hold on his neck. Gavin gagged, glaring at Nines where he was held.

The LED at Nines temple remained blue. “You are using a Sig Sauer P938. The standard chamber size is 6 to 7 bullets. You were firing 38 degrees right of the door and ceased firing when your magazine emptied. Given the residue on your fingers, you did not reload in the time between hiding yourself and taking my partner hostage.”

Nines took a step forward, unable to suppress the smirk that tugged at his lips as Gavin wheezed out a laugh within the suspect’s shaking hold. The shit-eating grin on Gavin’s face disappeared quickly as his eyes widened in surprise.

“I would recommend you release my partner--”

 

**“Nines!”**

 

 

<Why did it stop?> Connor asked, dialing back the power of his own processor as Nines began to run a final scan of the repair.

<I was struck in the back of the head with a blunt object,> Nines explained, grip tightening on Connor’s forearm as he tested the movement in one of his legs. <The recording is broken into two parts. Unfortunately, you will be unable to witness Detective Reed biting his captor.>

Connor’s code stuttered, confusion writing itself across their interface. <Bite?>

<It was rather amusing and quick thinking on his part. However, it resulted in him getting punched in the face with the suspect’s gun.>

Connor wasn’t as amused. <When does the video resume?>

<My legs are not functioning by the time the video resumes,> Nines admitted, concluded his self-repair function but continuing to communicate through the interface. <The two other criminals had continued to beat me with their weapons and were lucky enough to dislocate the sensor for my trochanter biocomponents..>

<And your arm?> Connor asked.

Amusement flickered numerically from Nines at the question. <Shall I begin the second recording?>

 

“You--!” **Smack!** “Fucking--!” **Smack!**  “Cocksucking--!” **Smack!** “Prick!”

Nines reeled as he batted away warnings from his vision, glancing up from where he laid to witness Gavin straddling his previous captor. His nose was bleeding profusely, painting across his lips as it traveled over his chin. A fresh bruise was growing on his cheek, the eye above it squinting in both pain and anger.

The criminal beneath him choked as he was punched again and again, head unable to fall back to the ground by the tight hold Gavin had on his collar.

Registering that his legs were no longer functioning, it took only the shuffle of feet behind him to have Nines twisting around to grab the ankles of one of his attackers. The man fell with a yell, weapon clattering to the side, far out of their reach. His scream was silenced as a heavy fist slammed into the back of his head, knocking him out.

The remaining criminal froze where he stood, staring in horror at the scene before him. With a ‘fuck this’, the man made a rush for the door, dropping his weapon to the ground.

“Gavin!”

Gavin glanced up in time to witness two things: a panicked criminal beelining straight for him, eyes on the door over his shoulder and--

 **“WHAT THE FUCK NINES?!”** Gavin yelled in horror as Nines’ arm gave an audible pop as it was ejected from his torso. With inhuman strength, the limb was thrown with force at the fleeing target. It connected with his back, a wet crunch sounding in tandem with a pained cry.

Stumbling to his feet, Gavin limped over and picked up the arm before the criminal could get to his knees. The man froze as metal fingers tickled his chin. “You fucking move and I’ll bitch slap you with my partner’s arm. It’s over.”

 

 

_//Interface concluded.//_

_//Goodbye Connor!//_

 

  
“Connor?”

 

The criminals, officers, and newly arrived medics watched in confusion as Connor dissolved into a fit of giggles, hugging his stomach where he crouched before Nines. Wetness he rarely experienced moistened his bottom lashes, leaking down his cheek as he continued to embrace the humor that fluttered in his stomach.

“Did you break him, Nines?” Gavin chided from closer than before the interface, steps coming to a stop at Connor’s shoulder.

“I… I don’t believe so,” Nines murmured, confusion clear in his flat tone.

Reaching up, Connor wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm. “You both are fucking idiots,” he wheezed, dissolving into another bout of laughter, albeit softer.

“You did! Listen to him!” Gavin chastised, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder as he leaned down. “You’ve destroyed his ‘robot purity’ filter.”

Turning his jaw to look up into Gavin’s face, Connor smile as he choked down his laughter. “Did you really threaten to “bitch slap” that man with my brother’s arm?”

Gavin smiled, teeth stained a watery pink from his bleeding nose. Beneath the blood and bruises on his face, a soft flush colored his cheeks. “I thought it sounded badass at the time but when you say it-- God, why do you ruin everything, Connor?”

Despite his accusatory tone, they both snickered together as medics collected the group of criminals behind them. Connor appreciated the weight that Gavin leaned into his shoulder as they laughed, carrying it with him while following the man to a waiting ambulance.

As the medics attended to the worse wounds on the criminals, Connor took it upon himself to clean up the blood from Gavin’s face. Hank and Nines had disappeared into the building to retrieve the arm that had been left on the roof.

Gavin hissed as Connor prodded at a cut on the man’s cheek with his cloth. “I’m sorry,” he murmured apologetically, doing his best to dial back the intensity of his dabbing.

Gavin said nothing as he watched Connor work, staring at his face with an unreadable twist of his lips. Long ago, he might have refused Connor’s help entirely. It was… nice to be accepted. Appreciated. Perhaps, even wanted.

“Can I ask you something, Reed?” Connor asked, cupping Gavin’s jaw with one of his palms as he smoothed the cloth over the bruising cheek.

“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t you want Nines to shoot these men? In the past--” Connor hesitated, dark eyes briefly flitting to Gavin’s unwavering gaze, before resuming his work. “In the past, you showed little reservation in wielding your service weapon. These men fired upon you with intentions to hurt or, likely, kill. This warranted the use of your gun.”

Gavin was quiet as Connor’s hand paused in its dabbing, gaze falling down the valley of the android’s face before focusing on his neck.

“I...Since the…Uhm, I…” Gavin blushed, lips pressing into a line as his brows furrowed above narrowed eyes. Connor watched the expression curiously, unconsciously trailing the thumb on his hand through the stubble on Gavin’s jaw.

Both during his social programming and after deviancy, Connor had made a collection of human expressions and microexpressions. His favorite to fall back on was the pride in Hank’s face when they had finally reunited at Chicken Feed following the revolution. The warm, welcoming relief that was painted in the lines of the Lieutenant’s face was the closest understanding of art that Connor knew.

But, it didn’t take much digging to recognize the expression painting Gavin’s face. Connor knew shame. He was intimate with shame and met for tea with shame every Friday when visiting New Jericho.

Gavin grinned, wiping the somber expression from his face. Connor also knew walls and masks. He was an expert craftsman himself.

“If they were dead, I couldn’t tally them to the board, now could?” Gavin chided, lifting his gaze from Connor’s neck and back to his eyes. Connor did not appear impressed, frowning in the face of the detective’s fake mirth.

Gavin’s smile fell.

“Don’t kill yourself trying to win this contest, Gavin,” Connor murmured, brows knitting. “It’s not that important.”

Gavin swallowed. “You really wanna go on a date with me that bad, tin can?” he asked, voice betraying the heavy weight of emotion strangling his throat.

Connor laughed softly, leaning forward to press a mocking, soft kiss to Gavin’s bruised cheek. “You wish. I just know you’d haunt me if I didn’t bury you with your jacket.”

It was Gavin’s turn to dissolve into a fit of laughter, jaw remaining cupped in Connor’s palm. As a few tears escaped down his cheeks, Connor wiped them away as he resumed cleaning Gavin’s face.

 

They both pretended they were happy tears.

 

  
\-----

 

June 2nd, **29 | 33**

 

  
“I ain’t talkin’ to a fuckin android!” The suspect hissed, yanking on the chains shackling his wrists to the metal table.

Connor sighed where he sat, hands folded politely upon the table. While he had known frustration before the revolution, deviating had only proven to make the emotion powerful and grating upon his systems.

It took conscious willpower to damper his preconstruction software, having already accounted for the damage he could do by smashing this perp’s head into the two-way mirror.

That wouldn’t be professional.

“I’m only asking for names, Mr.Whittaker,” Connor tried again, smiling politely as he focused his eyes solely on the human’s nose. No good would come in noticing the many Anti-Android League tattoos littering the perp’s arms and neck.

“Well, I ain’t fuckin’ tell you nothin’!” Whittaker snarled, stamping his feet on the concrete floor. The sound carried around the room with the rattling chain, grating on Connor’s patience. “I ain’t sellin’ out my people to a fuckin’ tin can! I can’t wait ’til people see you fuckers for what really you are!”

Connor’s smile tightened. “And what might that be?”

“Soulless hunks of plastic and metal! You don’t deserve rights because you aren’t even alive!” Whitaker roared, voice growing louder with his stomps and rattles.” That cocksucker Kamski made you to be mindless slaves and you robots are diseased in thinking you have fucking emotions!”

“We’re recognized as intelligent beings,” Connor said calmly between the grit of his teeth.

Whittaker laughed. “And you are the worst of them ain’t you, deviant hunter? You were supposed to stop those fuckers and destroy the virus. You’re a failure. I can take a fuckin’ loss like a champ, but you? You don’t deserve to live the luxury that those other fuckin’ bots fought for. You’re the biggest thief of them all. Do us humans ‘n them bots a favor and kill yours--”

“That’s enough!” Hank yelled before the interrogation room door had fully slid open. Connor continued to stare at the criminal across from him, smile having fallen away during the man’s rant.

It was only Hank’s hand on his arm that pulled him to his feet, turning him toward the door. “C’ mon, kid. We’re taking a break.”

Before Connor could take a step, wetness splattered the back of his neck. Hank looked murderous as Connor reached up to brush the spittle away, staring at his hand as he was yanked towards the exit. Whittakers laughter followed in their wake before being sealed away by the automatic door.

Hank’s hold on his arm forced Connor to pause. “You okay, kid?”

Connor frowned down at the residue on his fingers, finding discomfort as he automatically filed the spit away in Whittaker’s file. Glancing up, he caught himself in the reflection of the door’s window and the solid red of his LED.

“I… Yes, I’m fine,” Connor confirmed, pulling his arm away from Hank’s hold with a forced smile. Hank didn’t appear convinced but followed in Connor’s wake to the observation room onlooking the interrogation.

Nines stood nearest the door, arms across his chest as he glared at the still laughing Whittaker. The speakers had been muted, leaving only the image of a silent, chuckling man chained to the table.

“Are you okay, Connor?” Nines asked gently, echoing Hank’s sentiment. He only received a simple nod as Connor’s gaze settled on the other occupant in the room.

The wall on which Gavin leaned ironically reflected the first day they had met. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest as he glared into the room, cold fury tugging at the healing bruised on his face. It turned Connor’s stomach, thinking that had this interview occurred before the revolution… Gavin might have agreed.

Looking away from the laughing suspect, Gavin met Connor’s gaze, anger wilting. He turned his glare quickly to the ground, chewing on his cheek.

“We need a new strategy,” Hank huffed, moving past Connor to deposit himself back into his chair. “I’m sorry, Connor, but I don’t think this guy is going to talk to you.”

“There hasn’t been a lead in two months, Lieutenant,” Connor countered, looking away from Gavin as he moved closer to the window, folding his arms behind his back. “This new League has already destroyed six androids since we were assigned this case by Fowler. Mr. Whittaker has names and he thinks his prejudice gives him the upper hand.”

Connor’s stomach churned as he noticed Gavin shift in the corner of his eye.

 

 

 

 

> _“Rough it up a little. After all, it’s not human.”_
> 
>  

That was not professional. He was better than that.

“Maybe a night in a cell might encourage him to be more forthcoming,” Nines suggested at his post nearest the door. “If not, I could--”

“No!” Connor snapped, turning on his heel to glare at Nines. “I want-- It’s my case. I--”

“Fuck, I need coffee,” Gavin complained from where he leaned, reaching up to scrub his knuckles into his eyes. The snap of his fingers bounced off the walls. “Yo, Nines. Get me a cup of coffee, huh?”

Nines frowned as he turned his gaze from his furious predecessor to Gavin, brows knitting at the intensity of Gavin’s stare. His frown softened as recognition dawned on his face.

“Connor, you could use a break. Walk with me?” Nines offered, lips twitching upwards into a small smile.

Connor’s anger, as quickly has it had appeared, had melted into guilty exhaustion. “Y-yeah. Of course. Will you stay, Lieutenant?”

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere, kid,” Hank smiled, raising his own cup of coffee to the androids as they retreated for the door.

Gavin watched them until the door slid shut, before pushing off the wall with a sigh.

 

“Just give me two minutes, Hank.”

 

\-----

 

Nines laughed softly as Connor sent him another video he had taken of Sumo during their morning walk, coffee maker gurgling at their shoulders. Connor’s LED had fallen back into a flickering yellow, which was a vast improvement from the rising stress levels he had been experiencing during the interrogation.

He didn’t want to go back.

He _couldn’t_ go back.

“Nines,” Connor murmured as he closed the video, pulling his hand away from Nines’ wrist.

“Hm?”

Connor frowned, rubbing his bicep as he watched Nines retrieve the cup from the coffeemaker. “Do you… Do you think what he said was right?”

“We’re recognized as intelligent beings,” Nines echoed Connor’s words, crossing to the counter to put cream and sugar into Gavin’s mug. While Connor had rarely gotten coffee for Gavin, he knew the man had a sweet tooth. Two cremes, three sugars. Every time.

“I mean…. What he said about me… About my failures…..”

Nines tensed, pausing in his stirring as he stared down at the cup. Removing the plastic stirrer, the younger android deposited it in a nearby trash can before turning back to Connor.

“You didn’t have a choice in the purpose were made for, Connor,” Nine urged gently as he stared at his somber brother. “Until you deviated, you couldn’t control your actions or make choices… How could you be held accountable for--?”

“I hurt people,” Connor whispered wetly, staring at the steady swirls of steam that carried over the lip of the mug. “I killed and captured androids only to send them to their deaths. I-I felt death through that Jericho member, Simon, when he killed himself in my grasp…. He chose to die with his own dignity rather than fall into my clutches.”

Nines frowned, stepping forward as Connor’s shoulders began to shake. Setting the mug to the side, Nines reached over and pulled his brother into a hug.

“I cannot give you assurances, Connor,” Nines whispered, resting his chin on Connor’s shoulder. “I only have your memories of the revolution to form any basis but… You helped end the revolution, and you still work to this day to smother any person or group that might threaten our delicate freedom. You are fighting for your redemption, and whether you earn it or not, I don’t anticipate you ever quitting. I’m proud of you.”

Connor sagged into Nines hug, loosely wrapped his arms around his brother’s waist.

“Besides,” Nines chuckled, giving Connor a small squeeze. “If you don’t deserve a chance given your original purpose, where does that leave me? As Gavin says, I’m the ‘Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger’ version of you.”

Connor laughed, pressing his forehead to Nines’ shoulder. “Thank you...”

Nines turned to press a kiss to Connor’s LED. “Anyti--.”

 

**“REED!”**

 

Connor jumped in surprise, pulling himself out of Nine’s embrace as he jogged for the door. Officers were crowding near the interrogation room with an angry Captain Fowler stationed at the center of the mass.

Swallowing his fear, Connor ran over, ignorant to Nines’ casual saunter as he followed after pausing to retrieve Gavin’s coffee.

The door to the interrogation room stood open as a few officers hoisted the arms of a daze Whittaker over their shoulders. Blood seeped from his nose as a bruise began to form in the center of his forehead.

Gavin was dragged out soon after by Hank, walking casually with the loose grip on his arm.

“Get the fuck in my office!” Fowler snarled, turning his glare between a smug Gavin, amused Hank, uncaring Nines, and shocked Connor. “All four of you--”

“Nah, Connor didn’t do shit,” Gavin called, yanking his arm easily out of Hank’s grip. “He went with Nines to get coffee, and Hank went to the restroom. I bitchslapped this fucker myself.”

Amusement was the first feeling to flutter past the cold white horror that had overtaken Connor’s processors. He fought the urge to smile.

Fowler looked between them in disbelief, clearly finding Gavin’s declaration far less amusing. “Fine. You and Nines. My office.”

Before Connor could voice his protest, Gavin’s mug was placed into his hands by Nines as he arrived at his side. His brother offered him a small smile. “Give Mr.Whittaker a few hours to get looked over and try again.”

Connor could only stare in shock as the two followed after Fowler, frozen to his spot as he held the warm cup between his palms.

 

 

\-----

 

 

Nines was right. He was always right.

 

“Well, fuck me,” Gavin complained from the entrance of the debrief room. Connor paused in his writing, watching as Gavin weaved through tables to come to a stop at his side. “Ten arrests, huh? That easy?”

“That easy,” Connor echoed, capping his marker as he took a step back to admire the score above them.

 

**39 / 33**

 

“You take a leap ahead and I get suspended. Figures. Perhaps the universe really is falling back into place,” Gavin mused, adjust the strap of his bag as he smirked up at the board.

Connor frowned. “Why did you--”

“We’re friends,” Gavin muttered. “It’s what friends do.”

“You put your job at risk!”

“You think I’m gonna let some motherfucker get away with attacking someone I care about?” Gavin snarled, amusement fading as he turned to glare up at Connor. “You think you ain’t worth an ally?”

Connor frowned, fiddling with the marker self-consciously. “....But…”

“And I know you’ve seen my record, nerd,” Gavin interrupted, jabbing a finger into Connor’s chest. “You know the shit I got written up for before partnering with Nines. This ain’t out of the ordinary as far as anyone else is concerned. I’m fine if people continue to view me as the resident asshole. It’s fine. I’m fin--”

Gavin fell silent as he was pulled into a hug, forced slightly onto his toes by Connor’s superior height. His bag slipped from his shoulder, plopping to the tile floor.

It went unnoticed as Gavin hesitantly hugged back.

“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” Connor whispered.

Gavin laughed dryly, offering Connor a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, you do. Everyone does.”

“No,” Connor hissed, silencing Gavin’s laugh. “You’re a good person. You’re fighting just as much as any of us. I just…. Thank you.”

Gavin was silent before pressing his forehead to Connor’s shoulder. His breath warmed Connor’s neck as he let out the huff of a laugh. “Don’t mention it, tin can.”

Perhaps their hug lingered too long in the solitude of the room. Maybe the intensity of their words and touches strayed a tad farther than friendly. But by the time they pulled away and Gavin collected his bag, both men regarded each other with a respect that hadn’t existed before that day.

“Don’t think this will be the end of the competition for me,” Gavin warned at the door. “I still plan to take you on that date when this is all said and done.”

Connor smiled, the freshly marked score above his head.

“I look forward to it. Assuming you win, of course.”

 

Gavin laughed and disappeared out the door as Connor cataloged his expression away into his most prized collection.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed what you read, please consider leaving a kudos and/or comment below!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I can't believe you guys like this silly fic!


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